Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton
by Jun Yabriel
Summary: Silver is a fledgling Lumen Sage serving as a messenger. Though he's never disliked the position, he does get rather lonely. But there's a staggering upheaval rising on Earth: Inferno has declared war on Paradiso, its denizens' reason for conflict unknown. But Silver is soon thrown into the fray when a deified being speaks to him about events during his birth. :VR 4 UP!:
1. Fledgling Modesty

**Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton**

**Preamble – Fledgling Modesty**

_"Lonesome messenger, I have given you a most remarkable gift. To solace your wails of solitude I have bestowed upon you the voice of a thousand of My most beauteous Choirs. Your song shall echo throughout the Firmaments, calm My Earthly Children and ease their hearts, as well as your own, my lonesome messenger. Your Song is Mine, and so shall it lift and resideth in all hearts I have created and deemed good."_

**Lucia**, on Spagonia's grassy outskirts - **Sunrise**…

New light heralded the missioners awake without any need for clarions. The friary floors glistened in wakefulness. Morning had arrived. Sleep cycles fulfilled, a handful of holy men went to their designated sectors of the Lucia Mission. One went to awaken the small cast of orphaned boys for morning repast, while another headed towards what looked like a kitchen. Timid knocks reached three distinct double doors, each with an elaborate crest. The knocks were answered in accordance. At one a tall, rotund white habit appeared from behind one door. Above it, a purple cat's whiskery cheeks plumped up.

"Good morning, Brother Stylo," the cat guffawed after a grand bow.

In shy return, the silvery-white hedgehog bowed. "Good morning to you, Father Sigmund," came the remark, with a quieter smile upturning his mouth's corners. As well as his canary-diamond eyes.

Morning repast began: Leading the brotherly congregation in blessing was a fairly elderly echidna, donning the most ornate robes out of the adults. The other two, the big cat and a hoary albatross, bowed their heads in prayer. Other missioners, including the orphanage principal and his twenty-odd charges, shared a meal together. Stylo dished everyone their helpings by rounding the heads' and principal's tables with different foods before eating his own. Thanks sparked around each table, which resonated into compliments, even after he'd sat down. Soon after, a post-meal prayer dismissed everyone to their daytime duties.

Stylo departed alongside Father Sigmund to follow the orphanage principal. Not too far off from the mission's established plot was a schoolhouse. A wrought-iron palisade surrounded the foregrounds. Seeing the toys and playground equipment made Stylo reminisce a bit. Inside, pews of young boys—perhaps from seven to twelve years old—recited assigned readings for both their principal and Father Sigmund. Stylo assisted by helping the boys out with the next Sunday's readings.

After that was done, Stylo walked back with Father Sigmund to the Mission. Those graceful doors welcomed them in beyond their humble oaks and irons. The Lucia Mission itself wasn't as prominent as its neighbors. Previously unknown to campaigners, the ones who did notice it chose to stay and help it grow. Multitasking in more than one area, Lucia was very busy for most of the day. With all the current occupants, things were rolling off to a good start. Besides the mission itself there were said orphanage and schoolhouse, as well as the chapel attached to the mission, a small library, and an outpatient clinic. Busy mission-worker bees from morning till night, they were. Most worked together in cohesive and collaborative squads, while others more distinctive took up solo or more authoritative helms.

Like the parish priest, Father Nestor. He was the spearhead of the project, of Lucia's success. His dream of building a home for all who sought deliverance—be it physical, emotional, or spiritual—had become a reality. It was something he strived for even since he was a young man, like Stylo. And he'd been taking care of it since he'd grown into a man, thanks to a generous endorser. Perpetually composed and patient himself, Father Nestor saw similarities between his and Stylo's spirits. There was something about the boy he could never put his finger on; so he left it to spiritual eyes to see. Father Sigmund felt the same way, but was more involved with Stylo. Much akin to a father to the white hedgehog, the Maine coon was much younger than he looked. With a sense about him that the head priest couldn't sneeze at Father Sigmund was considerably more sedate than his brother-in-command. Father Pieria had his own way of doing things. Executing tasks on time was a big thing for him; if scullery wasn't done by 8:00 PM, he would surely give the "wrongdoer" quite a tongue-lashing. His buff chest couldn't be challenged, so most of the youngsters didn't. Without Fathers Sigmund or Nestor to diffuse his temper, Father Pieria would be a walking time-bomb.

But Stylo knew better than that. He respected and admired his superiors, even with their earthly imperfections. As the sole fledgling Lumen Sage, his peers wondered how he fell under such good graces.

A few good stretches brought Stylo back into focus. A hardy sigh preceded a just-as-hardy smile. "Time to work on the dining area."

Rolling a sponge mop in its pail, Stylo proceeded to the supper hall. The white hedgehog started with swiping the floor down, then moved to the tabletops, chairs, and counters inside the kitchen alcove. Now in the scullery, he let out a victorious huff—"Hah! All done!"—as he set the cleaning supplies away. He washed his hands, diffusing the ammonic fumes, before leaving the scullery, kitchen, and supper hall. A broad bay window allowed enough daylight to beam into both kitchenettes. Taller lancets did the same for the supper hall. Out of one, Stylo gazed.

Clouds moved. Wind blew. Flower petals shimmied, pollen glided to meadows farther away. Birds journeyed through. It was a good time to be springtime. The Earth had taken its time rousing from the cold solstice. Now, instead of building snowmen with the orphanage boys, Stylo could play water-tag with them. It was time to break out the easels and paint as well, since the boys could paint outside again. Two in particular really liked how active and fun Stylo was. Miles, a twin-tailed fox considered to be a "veteran," found it cool that the Lumen fledgling didn't mind his genetic mutation. In fact, the fox's wit was praised over everything else. There was also Shelby, a young bee that Father Sigmund picked up on his way back from Spagonia. Whenever he wasn't boasting about being more capable than "adults" like Stylo, Shelby was being made fun of for his name. Stylo, however, would reassure him with a childhood aspiration of his: to have his own sanctuary, a "ledge estate," that overlooked the sea, and if it was ever built he would name it after Shelby.

A tiny smile brightened the Lumen fledgling's countenance.

Lucia Mission wasn't extravagant in any way. It was pretty simple, compared to its bigger sisters and grander brothers. Situated on multiple relatively small plots it had a church, an orphanage, a library, a school, and a tiny clinic. The hamlet of Lucia wasn't any bigger than it was. Due to this, its Mission was the one place with running water, indoor plumbing, and power. It ran like all the administrative, academic, religious, and civil headquarters Spagonia had, albeit tinier and crammed into a single building.

Stylo realized how important it was for him and the other boys to be well-behaved. There were a few troublemakers, without a doubt. But Stylo was neither a bible-thumper nor a bible-tramper. Everyone was entitled to their own opinions; even he had no right to judge.

At the same time, though, there were so many things Stylo was hearing about: Philanderers, murderers, crooked cops, terrorists, pedophiles, and conmen— to name a few. From where he saw the world he could only nod his head to whatever the higher-ups said. Despair with them, pray with them, and then hope with them again. Stylo knew he couldn't truly know those things if he hadn't experienced them for himself.

There was one thing he remembered asking Father Sigmund about that was never answered. Stylo was about seven years old when he asked. A couple hours after his Hermetic Arts practice, Stylo entered the Maine cat's quarters with a big book in tinier hands. Said cat had been sipping something hot when the little hedgehog came shuffling in. In a hurry, too.

The robes obviously too long for him, the book plopped atop the sofa just when Stylo tripped.

_"My dear boy, what's the matter?" _Sigmund had asked, pulling the boy back up to a stand.

A bit flustered, Stylo threw his hands on the book cover. He beat both palms against it in strong emphasis. But the bigger cat looked confused.

_"Father, Father! What is a Witch?"_

"…I don't think he ever answered that, either." The smile on his face dimmed. "But I can always talk to Father Sigmund. About anything…right?"

In the Mission's library, countless encyclopedic volumes lined the shelves. Multicolored, multi-patterned, gilt leafed, embossed faces, engraved spines—they made the library vibrant. And, thankfully, Stylo was a reader. Quite the avid one, actually. If he had the time he could sit and read for hours. And even though he wasn't on anybody else's clock, his solitary trip to the book-hall was of great importance. Stylo sat beside sunlit bays. Page after page, information poured in, what felt like, reams. It was a bit too much at one time; but Stylo knew what he was looking for.

"Let's see…? Huh?"

What he wanted was absent. In fact, it may have been in a different volume. A completely different text. So Stylo got up, went back over to a shelf, and poked spine after spine. Until he found a notebook. Battered leather, weathered by age and heavy use, Stylo supposed. The edges looked frayed, but it was again assumed to be wear-and-tear.

"What is this?" Curious blinks. Then, honestly curious canaries peered at the opening inscription:

_"I've been a journalist now for over twenty years, always aiming for the guiding light of truth, always pushing forward. I've believed that communicating the truth is the core tenet of all journalism, chasing it until my legs turn to rubber and the truth is burned into my retinas._

_"They say that some things come at 'the cost of your life,' but to me, truth is my life. In this age filled with lies and deception, I forever pray that truth will shine its light on the path of righteousness."_ - Antonio Redgrave

* * *

"…Antonio Redgrave. Hmm, a highly respectable name," Father Pieria admitted, stroking under his beak. "He was a world-class journalist, wasn't he?"

"Excuse me, but…_was?_ As in, _past _tense?" Stylo worried.

"Yes, indeed, dear child." The wise echidna, Priest Nestor, combed through his beard lightly. Awaiting at his side was a wooden cane, classically knotted like an old martial arts master's. "He has long since passed on." He gently patted the journal's cover. "But, Stylo…?" Turning the pages, the elder asked, "Have you glimpsed at anything in this book, Antonio's Notebook?"

Rendezvousing in a secluded study, the three mission heads absconded Stylo inside. The study's curtains were pulled together, as if the leaders feared someone would peer in on their discussion. Other trustworthy missionaries supervised the orphaned children and handled minor affairs while in conference.

Shelby was coloring in a drawing of his when he noticed a turquoise crayon rolling over the edge. "Oh no ya don't," came an automatic yelp and lunge. Only to catch it too tightly. Impressed, but saddened, by his own strength Shelby's lower lip quivered. The tiny utensil had snapped into clean halves. "Aw, but you were one of my favorites…." he whimpered in a low, sad tone.

"I only read the inscription in the front cover, Father. From what I can tell…" Stylo smoothed a hand atop the other. "Antonio Redgrave sounded very well-learned and intelligent. A bearer of many great accolades…like you all." He threw a hand to the back of his head. "And so incredibly honest and virtuous, too! He wasn't a Lumen Sage like me, was he? Could've fooled me…!" An embarrassed chuckle.

A soft _plop!_ came from the notebook closing. Both Father Pieria and Sigmund clasped their hands together, tighter. Soon, a gravity had weighed down the light atmosphere. Stylo's chuckles subsided; a more reserved glower took over.

"Dear Stylo, my boy…I cannot say he was. But Mr. Redgrave was exceedingly knowledgeable—and curious—about them. As well as the Umbra Witches." A _tok!_ of Father Nestor's cane echoed a bit. "We, ourselves, are not Lumen Sages. We bear not their powers nor titles. I know the ways of the Sage somehow, you must be wondering. An old man teaching you such splendid arts? It must truly confound you."

Stylo stiffened. Gripping at his robe. "Y-You're not? None of you…are Lumen Sages? Well…" A soft sadness had entered those downtrodden canaries. "I guess that makes sense. Since you all joked your way out of showing me…moves that don't exist."

"It is not that they do not exist, young Stylo. Neither Sigmund nor Pieria could show or teach you such advanced movements."—The priests in question bowed his head and huffed a guilty snort, respectively.—"And I am past my prime, dear child, so all I can do is pass on my knowledge."

"But how can that be? You took me under your wing in studying the Hermetic Arts. I learned _everything _from _you, _Father Nestor!"

Stylo was silenced. Ordered, by the elder's hand, to hold his peace.

"You are a genius, Stylo."

Canaries brightened. Both excited and confused.

"With my verbal instruction alone, you have mastered Light Speed, the Hermetic Arts, and proven yourself proficient in utilizing Chaos Powers. With this many powers, you must uphold yourself—tried and true, as well as with much caution. Your powers are not socially acceptable, and your duties as a keeper of those techniques entail never leaking them, sharing them, with anyone. In fact, from now on, it is best to refer to yourself as an apprentice under my name." The old man smiled. "You've learned not all that you seek, my boy. I'm sure you're still curious about other things…?"

Stylo's gaze crept from the journal sliding closer to him back to the elder's smile.

* * *

An unassuming messenger bag was being packed: His wallet, a tiny bible, a pocketknife, and Antonio's Notebook. Stylo worked quickly, checking the long-case clock every now and then.

_ "There are other things I'm curious about, Father…but if I ask," A steely indifference shadowed his eyes. Brows dipping slowly, "will you answer me?"_

Tenderheartedly, Stylo kissed the envelope in his hands before placing it atop his freshly made bed. Morning glimmers left the floor and furnishings sparkly, as if no one had ever set foot inside. Meticulously clean, even down to the wood's grain, the Lumen fledgling made his departure and closed the door quietly. Adjusting his bag's Y-strap Stylo tapped towards the front doors. Passing the mission's kitchen, dining hall, infirmary. Outside, Stylo scampered off the premises. Trotting through Lucia, Stylo recalled all the Mission's plots without looking back.

Sunrise kissed his cheek as he dashed outside the hamlet's limits. Florid meadows surrounded him. Grasses couldn't scratch his calves due to his ankle-length robes. A cumbersome inconvenience, thought Silver. So, reduced to a trot, Silver cut away his robe's lower front, to cure his immobility. Soon after, he'd thrown the pocketknife into a stream.

Just in time, too: The train was coming. Lucia wasn't big enough to be considered a scheduled rest stop. It did always feel like the train coldly passed by the tiny village. Refusing to acknowledge its existence.

But that was going to change. Really, really soon.

"Let's cheat a little," Stylo snipped under his breath.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, Silver utilized a most prized Hermetic Arts technique: Light Speed. A lag slowed the area around both him and the train. Superhuman movements and reflexes allowed him to catch up with the caboose without trouble. Pouncing like a cat, he took roost upon the caboose's roof. Time returned to its normal pace, and Stylo blinked a little. A quick glance backward proved it, with Lucia flying towards the horizon. Excitement filled his head: _"I really ran away…! I'm leaving…and soon, I'll arrive in Spagonia, the City of Art and Knowledge, and Lucia's 'big sister.'"_

Citrines brightened in the rising sun's light, and that of a rising optimism. Blinking out of his reveries, the white hedgehog felt the aerodynamic gusts ballooning his face. "Maybe I should get inside," he chuckled under his arm-shield.

Empty, as per usual caboose; Stylo huffed a grateful sigh. Making his way through, he began to prioritize. He figured he'd need a disguise—a change of clothes, at the most. Something less obvious, something trendy, "hip," perhaps even "cool." He was clearly giving himself an excuse to shop. A convenient excuse, if he said so himself. _"Spagonia's _huge, _so there's gotta be a _ton _of places to shop!" _Stylo could've sworn he was ready to swoon at the mere thought of it. _"It sounds like so much fun!" _Suddenly giddy like a toddler, he bounced up and down in his seat. _"I can't wait! I can finally be a _normal _young person, now!" _Excited faces, shaking fists, and sparkles for eyes: Stylo's new life was about to begin.

In the City Where One Could Know Beauty and Find Beauty in Knowledge.

**In Fledgling Modesty, Amen.**


	2. The Presence of the Father

**Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton**

**Verse One – The Presence of the Father**

"Wow! This place is _huge._"

**Spagonia Train Station** - **Morning**…

Welcoming Stylo was a grand lobby. Broad and antiquely delicate, the train station's stonework let incomers wander around. Benches upheld weary travelers, but Stylo was too excited to be weary. Even the birds were welcome; perched high above, childlike canaries spotted a dove couple. Gleaming sunlight brightened everything. The windows were grand, tall and wide. The morning light felt mystical. Electronic boards and posters attracted the attention of a few people.

Speaking of whom, one thing Stylo noticed immediately was that the other Spagonians were near-transparent. Spooked, he jumped a little. "What in the—?"

"Welcome to Spagonia," announced a prerecorded voice. An intercom broadcast? She continued on, explaining things in regard to travel safety, security measures, and the like. At another startled jump, Stylo wondered if any of it applied to him. Better yet, how to make it apply to him.

"Umm…let's see…" Stylo stammered, turning every which way for somewhere to duck into. "I…just need to, uh…!" Then, after a light bulb's flicker, "Bathroom!"

* * *

The white hedgehog reemerged. The coy men's sign pranced in its still-shot. It didn't seem like anyone noticed him; was he still invisible? Making his way back onto the portico, he recounted something Father Nestor had taught him:

_"With your level of skill, you can freely meander in and out of Purgatorio," the old echidna explained, gesturing accordingly. "It is the technique used to walk back and forth between Purgatorio and the Human World."_

Stylo sighed. _"Whew. Good thing I remembered."_

The only exit was through a security gate. Soldiers were geared from head to toe, as well as armed. The one he greeted was concealing his weapon, obviously. "Is there something big going on today, officer?" Stylo asked.

"Yes. A religious convention hosted by the Ithavoll Group. It should be getting underway soon, so security has been enhanced. Please present your traveler's permit."

Stylo's heart dropped. He gulped. "I, uh, I am _so_ sorry. I don't have one." After digging through all of his messenger bag, he didn't have the first thing he'd need upon arrival.

A sour grimace crooked the guard's mouth.

"Umm! If it's any consolation, though, here's my ID." He handed him a tiny, laminated card. There was nothing significant about it: Only Stylo's face, name, date of birth, and rank were displayed. "I belong to the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I'm studying under Father Nestor—!"

"This piece of documentation is insufficient, young man. Please step back."

"Huh?! But, sir—!"

"Step out of line, please."

Slinking back, the twenty-year-old hedgehog allowed a woman awaiting with her child to take his spot. Utterly dumbfounded, Stylo was at a loss of what to do. Panic edged into his mental processes: _"Oh no! Stylo, you dummy! The one thing for you _not_ to have—of all the piddling…Gah!"_

"Hey, you. Need a Visa? Just go over there."

Stylo's eyes caught sight of a cowboy hat. He then caught on to the cool amethysts underneath. Somehow, a godsend had been sent to him. After a friendly tip of the brim, the red echidna sauntered off. Over one shoulder was a duffel bag; rolling behind his feet was a medium-sized tote. On top of it were two more travel bags. Sticking out of one of them appeared to be a folded map. Stylo blinked with astonished eyes.

"Uh, 'scuse me? Sir?"

The echidna snapped his pocket watch shut. A pretty golden gleam entered both his and the curious hedgehog's eyes. A particular eagerness had brightened them, now that their eyes were meeting. The echidna held a confused, spooked look—including creased eyebrows and defensive fang.

"Can I help you…?"

"Which way is it to the help kiosk?"

He shot his thumb adjacent from his shoulder. Stylo's eyes followed the point and perked his ears higher. Smiling grandly, he grabbed the stranger's hand and shook it, vigorously professional. "Thank you thank you," the boy spouted before dashing away.

Moments after watching him scamper off, the red echidna huffed. He tilted his hat more forward, pulled out the map, and began to scan it over.

The electronic signage within the building displayed the time change: 8:17 AM, in bright orange characters. Shortly after, a weather update as well as a prewritten message regarding that supposed convention and the revamped city-wide security in correlation with it.

"…I'm lookin' _dead_ at this map and it ain't showin' me a…'Parking Lot Café,' my man."

The man from earlier found himself in a bind. At the person on the other end of his cell phone, he gritted his teeth. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed. Something about a mentioning of coffee blends irritated him.

"Oh my goodness—Dammit, Ced, will you please tell me where you're at?!"

"Yeesh…! Chill yer britches, 'Senio…Lord. Lemme try that again…."

A more faraway voice mumbled something, but it was unintelligible to both speakers. "Huh? What did he say?"

"Nah, it was nothin', my man. Vesper's just sleeptalkin' again…Something about a 'Polyglot Café' or…?"

The echidna—with a cool best-friend shortening of "Arsenio"—gave a funny look to his map. Then, to his phone. Then, back to his map with narrower eyes. "The hell?—you mean the one you're at, _right now?_"

Now plus Visa, Stylo found himself entering into a wrong part of the male echidna's conversation. Somehow the man was yelling into his mobile device, with the white hedgehog flinching at every emphasis. Out came a teetering, "Umm…?"

"—but how the hell did you confuse 'Polyglot' with 'Parking Lot,' though?!"

Every spine on the young man's head stiffened. Bubbling at the corners of his eyes were sensitive tears. A trace of fear stitched into his heart; the harshness reminded him of Father Pieria's outbursts. Yet, despite the heat they carried, the burly albatross was always reminded that "Temperance is a virtue."

So, for a few moments more, Stylo observed the other man. He could easily see that the echidna was annoyed, fuming, and ready to snap again. It was rousing silent attention from the station guards, so Stylo made a bold move.

At his cell phone's disconnecting click, the male echidna made a "click!" with his tongue. Shoving it into his pocket, he did a double-take at Stylo's gawking eyes. Another confused look pronounced his features. _"The hell, man? What does this kid want?"_ He flashed a threatening fang at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but the guards are watching you…."

The hedgehog's whisper sensitized him. After a couple blinks—looking towards the gate—and another couple at one walking by. In exchange for Stylo's teasing smirk, he gave a strangely blank yet cross look. "There ain't anything to see here. I ain't no terrorist."

Stylo was startled by the subjective observation. Flushing madly, he cheeped, "I didn't think you were! I'm so sorry!" He slapped a pair of hands over his mouth.

Both brows lifted. Following came a bewildered look. The boy was fretting inside, he could tell. He took a peek at a radiating semblance to the Celtic cross he possessed. Feverishly uttering under his breath, the boy's chain of prayer was broken.

"Hey, kid? Do you know where…?" He sighed. "'Polyglot Café' is?"

"I'm sorry?"

Golden-yellow finches had bucked wide. The white hedgehog had frozen. Like a night-roaming deer caught in a semi's headlights. No fault or harm was about to come his way—the echidna was sure, in the strangest of ways. He was only asking if he knew where that café was. Sure, the boy was a tad weird, somewhat nosy, and annoying, but it wasn't something to beat him down over. In fact, a kidlike charm radiated from the white hedgehog: His garbs looked more pristine against his silvery dove-gray coat. Segmented forehead-quills appeared to be brushed upward. His messenger bag looked out of place, though; the young man's head tilted at the stranger's intrigue. Thankfully, the echidna's temper had simmered down.

"Oh, I see. You're new around here, aren'tcha?" A sly smirk. "Well, no worries, kid. Let's be lost together, why don't we? Feh-heh!"

Stylo blinked rapidly.

"I'm sure we can learn our way around together."

Then, he blushed.

"I'll find where I've gotta be, sooner or later, and you'll find where you've gotta be…wherever that is."

Stylo watched the echidna hike up his belongings, listening in on more exposition. Compared to his sling-tote, the luggage seemed full-blown. He'd introduced himself as Arsenio Gutierrez. On auto-pilot, he multitasked flawlessly. As if a disruption had never been made, he presented his ID and Visa to the security guard. Stylo wasn't sure if he should've followed, but the echidna had darted a "He's with me," back at the guard. The boy was astonished, struggling to keep up in conversation. He found himself flittering about in attempts to follow his new acquaintance; Arsenio only chuckled, in return.

**Spagonia**, within an indistinct leisure district – **Mid-morning**…

Clearance was complete. Now, Arsenio and Stylo could begin on a joint episode of wanderlust. From the midst of his explanations, Stylo learned that Arsenio was a freelance treasure hunter; an explorer of sorts with the intention of keeping his finds. But with enough luck and good looking-out from a renowned friend, he might consider working for a museum or an archaeology firm. Stylo's eyes sparkled, proud of him for his achievements.

Even if it settled a bit oddly with Arsenio, himself. He chuckled again. "You're a weird kid, you know that?" A cool wink.

Stylo could've sworn each hair on him stood up a bit. He sucked in part of his lower lip, hiding an awkward smile. "What about you? What do you do?" His quills frazzled at the sudden redirect. "Uh-I, ahh…I'm an apprentice at the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I've worked under Father Nestor ever since I was little. But I'm on break today. Lots of work and no play makes for a very unhappy Stylo." A bashful laugh lilted.

More antiquated edifices lined the streets. Spagonian natives looked so regal and holy in their garbs. Arsenio was putting two and two together as he quietly analyzed his younger companion. Stylo looked like a teenager, but he admitted—again, bashfully—that he was twenty years old. He "aged gracefully," according to him. He wasn't attending Spagonia University. So Arsenio figured the hedgehog was using his apprenticeship as a more intensive route. Perhaps for a career focus? Maybe it was geared more towards religion? Was he training to become a priest, he wondered. By the looks of him, he still had a long ways to go.

"Well, whatever is it you're aiming for, you're closer to it than I am—_that's_ for sure."

A curious blink. "Hmm? Why do you say that?"

But Arsenio just shook his head. "I shouldn't say. Could be bad judgment on my end. Ya know?" He gave Stylo a semi-comforting grin.

* * *

"Criminy, here it is!"

**Polyglot Café** – **Mid- to Late Morning**…

"Finally! 'Bout time I found this damn place…! Grah, my bad. I kinda just dragged you along…."

"Oh! No, that's okay! But, uhh…if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna head out, now. Maybe we can sit down for coffee next time?"

"I ain't got a problem with that. In fact, I'll treat ya." His wink looked so cool. "You know, for helping me keep my head, and keeping me company. It's nice to travel with others sometimes. Anyway, I guess I'll be seein' ya."

Up a tall staircase and through a rustic door, Arsenio was greeted by a tinkling bell. He gave Stylo one last wave before disappearing.

Stylo did the same before heading off his own way. All while hiding the butterflies flittering in his stomach.

Further up the street, there were stands. Showcases of handmade sweet nothings, including cards, fruit baskets, and other decorative trinkets. Somewhat homey, nestled inside a small plaza, Stylo couldn't smell the sweets without them making his mouth water. With the little money he had Stylo tried a gelatin sample before buying a cup for himself. It was green, but tasted more like strawberry than kiwi. A jewelry stand caught his eye: _"Maybe these gold bands will accent my new outfit!"_ The young man was bubbling with excitement.

Even further along, Stylo found a shopping mall. Although, it wasn't anywhere near as big as he thought it would be. If anything, it looked like an indoor Chinatown. It appeared to be receiving quite a bit of patronage, however. Even Stylo's: Sparkling canaries ogled a young men's boutique, under the name "Adonic Egotist." Not too cued in to the name, Stylo went in and checked everything out. Vests, sweater vests, tailored vests, even lumberjack vests; dress wear, sportswear, casual wear, and "hard-wear" were divided into four tiny sections in the shop. Going by style, he could only imagine himself in dress wear, since his Lumen Sage fledgling robes were considered formal. But, too eager to be conservative, Stylo wanted to buy the first outfit he put together.

Or, at least, tried to want to.

His poor wallet was starving. A crooked smile twitched his lips. _"There's no way I can cover this…Oh no!"_ came his mind's frightened peeps. Tears drooled in comical squiggles.

But he still wanted to try on the ensemble. He'd picked out a lovely graphic tee-cardigan combo and cool denim skinnies. Trendsetting boots and sunglasses tied the look together; his gold bands made it look richer—literally. Curious, he examined the engravings in the bands. They were in an unreadable script, and Stylo gave up without thinking too deeply into it.

Suddenly, a sharp pause. And a half-anxious, half-sneaky smirk. _"Hmm…? What was that move again?"_

Half a moment later, Stylo pulled the curtains back and forth. A courteous move, even though he was sure nobody noticed. Apprehension made his heart pound, but he strolled back towards the boutique door. After removing all the price and security tags, Stylo chanced a non-problematic exit. In fact, an opposing incident came: A sales associate had noticed no one—meaning Stylo—had come out of the changing room in a long time. Stylo took a moment to watch the once-concerned clerk fly into confusion after noticing the tags, throwing his eyes everywhere, and calling the manager. _"He _should_ be calling the police…!"_ A naughty snicker. How uncharacteristic of him, the white hedgehog thought right after.

Far enough away now, Stylo revealed himself just before blending into a crowd. Almost like they were awaiting a parade, Spagonian citizens lined the main street. A little girl waved a cross in the air at someone. Her cross looked an awful lot like his own.

_"Huh?"_ Stylo pulled out his necklace. Gold, radiating sun rays, it resembled his treasure gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday. It was uncanny.

The person she waved at was approaching. Suddenly, a gravity unlike any the hedgehog had ever felt fell on him. Canaries quivered at the distant magnificence.

A tall Human, hoary with age yet somehow retaining a minute youthfulness, glided along. Gold-tipped boots clacked against cobblestone. Shoulders draped by a whole peacock, as well as a golden cloak, the man looked divine. Ahead of him was Spagonia University, the city's centerpiece. At his heels was a shorter man, who resembled a hedgehog—like Stylo—in profile. Veiled from head to toe, the hedgehog's willowy masculine frame was the only thing Stylo could identify. He seemed to be carrying the golden robe's hems, like a maid would for a bride's veil. An anonymous entourage surrounded both men.

Utterly stunning, thought the twenty-year-old. Stylo's eyes shimmered at the Human man's response to that little girl's call, "I love you, Mr. Balder!"—which was a good-natured smile, coupled with a gentlemanly half-bow. An almost magical movement: It was enough to simulate him ducking from a whirlwind. It snatched up one of Balder's peacock feathers. In perfect time, the wind lightened, and the little girl giggled uncontrollably after catching it. Her mother praised her, and the little girl waved again, "Thank you!"

A childlike fascination had settled in Stylo, too. He made himself smile big. "Wow! Father Balder—as in, _the_ Father Balder! I never thought in a million years that I'd see him! Especially so up-close and personal, sort of…Heh?"

Somehow, an eeriness meandered through that moment. As brief as it came, it left. A piercing gleam, and it startled Stylo to notice it coming from the Human's half-mask. Richly gold, a cobalt lens was encrusted into its sun-like design. The upper-left third of the man's face was armored by it. And it screamed "Foreboding!" at Stylo.

_In the Presence of the Father, Amen._

* * *

Jun Yabriel: I have returned, and with the third installment to my "Main-Men Hedgies" collection, to boot! Silver, renamed "Stylo" for the sake of the storyline, is the final main protagonist. Contrary to what I had originally planned, his story takes place in the distant past-to-present timeline (compared to Shadow's present-to-future and Sonic's present-to-alternate universe present-to-multiple futures). Also, I know Silver never appears in _Sonic Unleashed_, but I'm using _Unleashed_ settings instead of _Bayonetta_ settings - because why not? I guess as a compromise, I will be inserting _Bayonetta_ characters into the storyline, as well as one or two OCs.

No Angel-hacking action yet, ladies and gents. That'll come later, I promise. XD


	3. Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny

**Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton**

**Verse Two – The Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny**

Back at the **Polyglot Café** – **Meanwhile**…

Near the Café's entrance hung a mosaic rose window. Pinks, greens, orange, and gold flecked in variegated tints. An interesting saying was etched into a wall's scrolling: "Where Relaxation Is Understood Everywhere."

"I dunno, my man. This 'Father Balder' sounds awful fishy to me."

"Yeah, o' course. Any bigwig CEO is gonna sound suspicious, even with his 'big plans' to bring new energy sources into Spagonia. But think about all that loot. If you can get one raid of his safe in—_just one_…you'd make me a very rich man, _my_ man." Cedric crossed his arms and nodded in confidence.

A long-faced, hopeless look pulled down Arsenio's features. "Uh…I'm not _that_ good yet, Ced. I know I'm a treasure hunter an' everything, but…?"

But it was too late. The green crocodile was wringing his hands together, already sinisterly plotting. A Dark Chao bobbed around over Cedric's head.

Arsenio gave the croc an even blanker stare. "I ain't no Lara Croft or nothin', but whatever."

The purple chameleon sitting with them had actually dozed off. Quiet Z's drifted over his head as it dawdled in his hand's balance.

More Spagonian citizens coasted by. Slightly above ground, the ancient architecture caught Arsenio's eye again. Once-ginger roofs had become antiquated. More technological advances were being made, but there was an emphasis on not harming the city's original design and layout. It was an enforced promise; Father Balder made sure of it. But something about the CEO's promises seemed odd: Changes in Spagonia's infrastructure would need to be made in order to progress. Why bother worrying about the city itself? He proposed it had something to do with the local Historian's Guild. Perhaps they didn't want too much change?

Was it even on Balder's agenda to transform Spagonia?

"Speaking of famous video game references, I wonder how the ol' Doc Eggman's doin'?"

The snooze bubble at Vespertine's "nostril" popped, suddenly.

"I mean, he's demoted himself from evil mastermind to evil cohort, if you ask me." The big croc shrugged. "I'm sure he ain't lose any of his ungodly smarts, since he's still got that filthy-rich paying job under Balder. Hey! You guys think he's got some cockamamie scheme cookin' up? For Balder's 'new energy' spiel…?"

A pause filled the space between Cedric's question and a response. "Whaddaya think, Vesper?" came the random redirect. But the chameleon gave Cedric a blank gaze, then a slow blink. Another pause, slightly more awkward than the first, filled in next. On the other side of it was Vespertine's sleepy half-nod. Sweat drops fell from Cedric's temple. His cross remark sounded like, "Guhh…ya sleepyhead."

Arsenio kept his eyes on the outside, however. Cedric's drabbles faded from hearing. Focused on a nonspecific thing, the echidna's thoughts went back to Stylo, for some reason. He thought back to the comment he'd halfway made to the boy. And from the bottom of his heart he frowned, closing his eyes.

It was only for a brief second. He swore that girl hadn't been there prior to it.

* * *

Father Balder's entourage began to ascend the University stairs. A twitch in the air was felt. As the men were wholeheartedly greeted and granted access, Balder turned back. It was a small glance, towards the hedgehog behind him.

"Such nuisances, those Witches are."

The hedgehog lowered his hands. The golden cape's embroidered sun shimmered as the tall man glided inside. After the faintest glimmer of his faceplate came a command.

"Eliminate her."

He sharply nodded. "Sir!"

The doors had closed, but the hedgehog still disappeared through them.

* * *

Falling from a rooftop, she seemed to be. Magical elegance wafted over her curves. A nighttime sheen darkened her lilac fur. The cat's movements were focused and timely. She landed perfectly, like a gymnast. A sharp gleam on her _bindi_ denoted immense yet suppressed power. So did the claws on her hands and feet. Fiery and wrathful in every sense.

Which was a big turn-on for Arsenio.

"Sweet mama! Hello~, sexy!" As well as for Cedric, giving her a wolfish whistle.

Vespertine's sleep bubble snapped.

About as soon as the mysterious girl had appeared, a body-crushing boom thundered behind her. She gave it a nonchalant glance. Even though whatever caused it had flattened a store front across the street from the Café.

Jumping out of his seat, Arsenio cried out, "What the hell?!"

Cool as a cucumber, the cat-girl readied her weapons. She was ready to pounce. "Come and get me…you goody-two-shoes lummox."

The crude taunt made the Café shake. Shop staff evacuated patrons, leading them through an emergency exit, with Cedric and Vespertine chasing along after them. But the croc noticed they were one man short. He and his chameleon partner skidded to a stop, out of the stampede's way.

"Hey! 'Senio? Where are ya, my man?!"

But the building's façade came crashing in; an invisible entity destroyed it. Fearing the worst, Cedric cried out Arsenio's name once more. Also fearing the worst, Vespertine took the somber approach and pulled Cedric into following him.

Strangely, whatever had roared earlier didn't sound like an angry tiger or a vengeful man, but a distressed choir.

Landing high above, the cat-girl watched the angel like a hawk. Besides its cherubic face, this angel looked nothing like what angelology studies and theocrats described. It looked brutish, warlike, and ready for battle. Emerald armor was donned, and it was armed with a massive golden axe. Its ring sported metal lapels that resembled sunrays. Regrouping itself, the angelic ironside grunted as it pushed itself out of Polyglot Café's edifice. It bared its golden axe, once more.

Another heavenly roar sounded. From it came an ivory ghostlike tome:

**Beloved**

_Second Sphere Powers_

The cat-girl grimaced.

**Elsewhere**, in a Spagonian plaza – **Moments before**…

Stylo relaxed on the upper patio of yet another café. It was a bit smaller than Polyglot, but it had a rich native atmosphere. Halving as a bakery, a couple of store clerks doubled as waitresses. Apparently, the sisters had taken a load off their elderly grandparents. Stylo managed to chat with them. They giggled and blushed, compliments were exchanged, and Stylo even scored a high "Cute Guy" quotient with both girls.

Despite being college student-age all around, Stylo felt out-of-place when they talked about "semester exams" and the like. He had to admit he was embarrassed about not having a clue of what they were talking about. Even with his confession, all the girls did was coo at him and giggle in sympathy. A tad biting in a way, but he was sure they hadn't meant it to be. The twenty-year-old simply waved it off with a giggle of his own.

That was when a sudden rumbling shook the area. The waitresses yelped at the earth quaking, cups slipping off tables, and chairs and parasols shifting about. It was brief, but it was felt in neighboring buildings. A middle-aged man poked his head out a window and checked for damage. Turning to the girls, "Hey! You girls alright?"

The sisters were holding each other when one of them replied, "We are, Mr. Josef! Was that an earthquake?—there's no way it could've been, right?"

Stylo steadied himself after losing his hot cocoa. He was shaking slightly, as he grabbed hold of the banister. Below, people were panicking. No one was running quite yet, but frightened Spagonians discussed their suspicions.

"Maybe it was an earthquake!"

"That's geographically impossible! We're nowhere near a fault line!"

"Or somehow a meteor crashed nearby?"

"Where did it land?"

Stylo watched a bespectacled man and a butcher argue for a bit before an adolescent mentioned a possible meteor crash. _"This is getting out of hand, _fast._ Sooner or later, the police will be here, right?" _Reluctant to leave the scene, Stylo made the quick decision to bail.

"Hey! Where are you going?" the other sister called after him. "We should wait till the police arrive—Oh my gosh, are you crazy?!"

He hadn't meant to ignore her, but Stylo couldn't risk anyone seeing his disappearing act. He vaulted over the patio railing, falling diagonally into the alley in-between. Only to disappear before hitting the ground. After Stylo tumbled safely, he stopped himself. _"Something's not right!"_ He ran further through the alley.

A couple lefts later, he found himself in the street. He took a moment to note the townspeople, the arriving police, and the buildings' condition. Things not mounted to the pavement were jolted, but the buildings looked intact. Stylo was highly certain that rumble hadn't been an earthquake. So, he made a brave dash across the courtyard to investigate, and possibly help anyone who needed it.

* * *

Sometime into his investigation, Stylo heard evacuation protocols being issued for that section of the city. _"What's going on? That tremor put everyone on high alert. Where did it come from, anyway?"_ the young man's brain tried to process. No one could tell him to stop and turn back, now. Vaulting into Purgatorio made his armbands glow; he hadn't noticed until his new clothes were gone. In their place again were his Lumen fledgling robes. Confused, Stylo examined himself. "How did my…?" Then left it at that.

His ears perked to the sound of loud thuds, glass breaking, and a distinct voice shrieking. Suddenly, an explosion of debris came into view. And, at the forefront, translucent silhouettes shaped like Cedric and Vespertine came running.

"Holy shit, gangway!" the croc appeared to have cried, snot and tears flying off his face.

Stylo peered closer at them. Then, at their dust trail. Then, back again. He gasped, eyes gaping in shock. "Hold on! What are _angels_ doing here?!"

Soaring after the two reptiles was a squadron of them. Resembling birds in the vaguest sense, the flock seemed to be following a superior-like leader. Not that much different from the rest, the brother angels wielded oddly shaped weapons but donned rich cobalt-blue and blood-red robes with identical facemasks. Their wings' elbows were gilded, glorious feathers beaming in the pre-noon light. One of the leaders led its co-commander and their platoon into a beautiful battle cry. A ghostlike tome appeared from their chorus:

**Affinity**

_First Sphere Angels_

In midflight, the angels caught sight of Stylo. The hedgehog and ethereal creatures locked glances. Half went ahead, while the blue co-commander brought down their half of the platoon. Their gentle landing awakened the plant life in the direct vicinity. Flowerpots burst with color, ferns unfurled and curled fancily, even potted trees aspired to reach for the sky. Birds twittered happily. Stylo looked around the plaza in astonishment.

A whimsical arpeggio brought his eyes back to the angelic team. Standing tall and grand before him, the blue-robed angel seemed to be examining him. Birdlike hums trilled from it. Its claws looked dangerous beyond a doubt's shadow. But, to Stylo, it sounded fascinated.

_"It almost seems happy to see me…?"_ the Lumen fledgling thought. A natural nervousness came over Stylo, as a claw slowly craned towards his head. "Umm…Have I done something that's, uh…made you happy?"

The white hedgehog was expecting a jab to the skull that would result in instant death. But it came as a gentle poke. It made him feel warm and safe all over. Angelic security came in the form of a fluid laud.

"ECRIMI IADPIL—LIBA," sang the blue-clad commander.

Its underlings followed, climbing up and down the musical scale in notes Stylo had never thought he'd hear. Another eggshell tome floated over his head:

**Applaud**

_First Sphere Archangels_

* * *

_Stylo felt a wave of humility washing over him. Enlightenment brimmed every crevice of his brain and came close to burst at the seams. In it, Stylo found himself gliding over a pond. The cleanest water the fledgling had ever seen, as well as in the most beautiful location. Isles of green meadows spotted the pond, which seemed to stretch into forever. The very tip of his toe skimmed the water. The absence of gravity but presence of control was exhilarating. Stylo giggled playfully, going back to his childhood days of ice-skating when the lake outside Lucia Mission froze over. He never expected himself to be so good at it, much less needing it later in life. But there was still a vast difference between skating on ice and skimming on water. Elation pulled both corners of the white hedgehog's mouth; Stylo couldn't help feeling happy._

_ It felt like his first twenty years of life melted away, became irrelevant. But, in the fledgling's elation, a child's reflection was skating under him, with him._

* * *

However, the cat-girl came scurrying out with the hulking Beloved in tow. Near-reckless axe swings missed their target. The girl was too quick for it. Ready to go back on the offensive, there came a glint from her dark-lilac bodysuit. Silvery braids mingled with the stitches. Her ruby _bindi_ blazed.

"That's it, I've had enough!" Her curved cleavers blazed, as well. "I'm ending this, now!" All four weapons glowed with literal flames. As she chanted, an evil-looking tome floated from the magical depths. Along her curves, amplified by that dark portal, her fur and hair swiveled around. A strong modesty veiled her unmentionables with a dark-lilac helix. Her swords dance channeled more magical power into her spell:

**"IZAZAZ PIADAPH"**

From the evil tome appeared a name:

**Phantasmaraneae**

_Infernal Demon Spider_

Stylo found himself in the arms of the Applaud, it and its platoon soaring high over Spagonia's leisure district. In spite of his astonishment, Stylo felt like he'd been hit by either that Beloved or a semi. His body felt like lead. Awakening from a particularly nice dream, he looked around in a daze. He didn't quite catch on to his mysterious flight, but before he could he found himself being lowered to the ground. Very confused, Stylo found out the ground to an angel was the top of a building.

"Uh-…ah? Hey, wait! Please, don't leave me up here!" The fledgling struggled to reach out, seeing them take off. Back in the sky, the platoons attempted to regroup. But literal spitfire torched them. They screamed as they plunged into the fiery rivers below. The sidewalks were bathed in lava, somehow. In between his meeting the angels and waking atop the building, a giant fire-spider had appeared and was devouring the Beloved. The Lumen novice witnessed the animosity, his heart dropping and blood draining from his face. Arachnid fangs gnawed the angel over and over. Stylo couldn't believe his eyes. Everything around him had become chaotic all of a sudden.

"What…What in the world…is…?!"

"Here comes the Cavalry, so watch out, Jyeshtha."

Suddenly, Stylo found himself ducking for cover. From out of nowhere came a loud grinding sound. Almost like metal on stone, it careened over him. It came in the form of a metal hull. Not too huge or imposing, it looked too big for the three people in it. The airborne boat was complete with masts, sails, a steering helm, and battened-down hatches.

The girl who'd spoken sounded very young. It wasn't official until Stylo caught sight of three of them. Young girls, dressed up in pastel pirate ensembles, sailed right over the white hedgehog's head. One looked back and waved a hanky at him. "Bye, Cutie-Sage!"

Stylo made a face. "_Cutie_-Sage? What the—?"

Before he took another step, a gold glint flashed into his eye's corner. And gasped. "No way!" Stylo had run over to retrieve its source. Examining it carefully, Stylo sighed, "Oh no…" remembering it belongs to the co-commanding Applaud. The blue- and red-robed "brothers" had succumbed to the demon spider's spit, together. A silent prayer went into a peaceful passing.

Snapping his eyes open, the novice took up the weapon and gave a serious glower. "That spider's destroyed part of this city. And it looks like…" Eagle-eyed, he caught sight of the cat-girl declining a ride from her contemporaries, it appeared. He narrowed his eyes at her. "She's the cause of it. I have to stop her!"

Just as he was making his way towards her, she saw him skipping over buildings at a high speed. Her ears swiveled towards his footfalls. Then, a sour grimace curled her lips. "Tch! You can't catch me, fool. Good luck trying, though."

Parts of Spagonia had begun to burn. And that was when the chase began.

_In the Arrival of a Mysterious Destiny, Amen._

* * *

Jun Yabriel: I hand a lot of credit to the Bayonetta Wiki for this chpt, and probably all the rest that'll follow. I had forgotten a lot of the underlying details in the original game, so I decided to incorporate some of them. I hope you like them. If you haven't played Bayo, you need to. It's really fun; it may leave a few players miffed (what with blood and gore and angel-hacking), but if you like hack-'n'-slash games, here's one to pick up.

Anyway, Stylo's met a Witch - does that answer his question, though? He's also met a few angels, as well. "Boy, what a day!" Another chpt should be coming up. I hope you enjoyed this one!


	4. The Sentinel's Test A

**Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton**

**Verse Three – The Sentinel's Test A**

**Spagonia University** – **After hearing of the commotion**…

"Good Lord…! _Was_ that an earthquake? Shouldn't we evacuate?"

"Be not alarmed, Professor Ulrich." Father Balder waved the fellow man down. "A sentinel of mine is seeing to it."

The elderly scholar seemed fairly apprehensive about the earth rumble. It felt too close to home to merely ignore. Heightened security surveyed the area. An origination was confirmed to be somewhere in the leisure district. "Between Wards 16 and 17, approximately, sir," a scout had notified a higher-up.

Deep within the university's subterranean cloisters, a council of white-garbed men sat around a rich mahogany table. A meeting of sorts was suggested by the Ithavoll CEO, himself. More than willing to accommodate, Professor Richard Mandrake welcomed the closely knit group. Unable to direct them any further than the Main Building's elevator, the CEO thanked Prof. Mandrake for his hospitality, nonetheless.

The conference had commenced, and less than ten minutes into it, the rumble came and went. But it was almost as if Balder wasn't surprised. He did steal a glance at the older gentleman, however. His glasses shook as he adjusted them. With a reassuring wave, Balder was able to quell it.

"It isn't what you think it is, my good sir." Father Balder continued.

"Are you sure? Perhaps, it was an explosion…?"

"Please, don't worry yourself. Your seniority will prove to be more of a hindrance in your progress than an asset, if you do. My sentinel is handling it, Prof. Ulrich…."

**Spagonia's Ward 24**, near the rocky strand – **More into the afternoon**…

_"…I can assure you."_

Ocean breezes whipped up the veiled hedgehog's half-robe and tabard. Seabirds flashed by his line of vision, but he disregarded them. They flew further out, banking towards the coastline again. Alongside the same line but further away, despite his veils, he seemed to be peering in the newcomers' directions.

Stylo was nipping at the cat-girl's heels. And from what could be gathered, she looked very annoyed. The stillness he'd carried shifted slightly; he made a wordless double-take at Stylo. His masked gaze intensified; though he remained silent, fell through another portal, and disappeared again, without a word.

"Hey! Stop right there, you!" the Lumen fledgling cried.

But her remark was rude and snippy. "Kiss my catty ass, loser!"

A furious blush overtook Stylo's face. "H-Hey! Watch your mouth now, lady! And stop, while you're at it—?!"

Suddenly, a feminine choir sang out from below. As soon as Stylo noticed he'd run out of buildings to hop over, he skidded to a stop. The white tome appeared before him:

**Enchant**

_Third Sphere Angels_

"Huh? Enchant…? Where—!"

Shooting up from below came an entourage of golden wheels. Apparently, they'd been coasting along the walls beside him. Six maiden wheels continued the chase in his stead. The wheels bounced and grinded, their ladylike faces belting out another staggered chord.

"Whoa, they're so fast…!" Stylo watched in awe as they caught up to the cat-girl in no time.

But Jyeshtha wasn't amused by the trade-off. She snarled under her breath. Her clawed foot attachments scraped the stonework. "I don't have time to deal with you! Get away from me!" Anger swelled into her power. It blazed, manifesting as a more orange fire, in her hands and feet once more.

"Crisis Slash!"

One of the Enchant sisters fell victim to the Witch's combination attacks. The fighters on both sides were relentless. Precise claws marks made the angel-wheels shriek before exploding into gory, metallic shards. Damages they made infuriated the cat-girl even more, and as a result she seemed to be fighting with even more ferocity. She even took up one wheel and slung it, sending it into tables and chairs, pavement, windows, a fire hydrant, all before crashing into its sisters. She managed to score a three-for-one shot, too.

"Oh no! They're losing! They need help!" Stylo cried. He stiffened a grip on his new weapon, set his aim on the magic user's back, and kept close with her movements. "Don't worry! My heart is pure and righteous!" Stylo kept his grip taut, his aim tightening. A peek of tongue brought out more concentration. So did a small hum. That's when a tiny glint of light flashed between Stylo's fingertips and pull-back. A thin shaft of light was formed, much to Stylo's amazement. He'd been wondering how the Applauds shot arrows without seeing a quiver. _"Faith, it has to be! So, with that…!"_ The Lumen fledgling's arrow brightened further and further until he could hold it anymore. "Let my arrow fly!"

A blinding arrow shot by Jyeshtha. "Well—!" It managed to snatch off a piece of her suit, making a small gash just above her tail's base. "Pervert…! Here, catch!"

"What—I am _not_ a pervert!" He wasn't prepared to catch the wounded Enchant, however: It was soaring right at his face. His gasp escaped, and he threw a hand up to catch it on reflex.

But the Enchant was deflected, somehow. It'd bounced off an invisible object and flew away, falling elsewhere. A dumbfounded look came over Stylo's face. His eyes widened at the Enchant's subsequent destruction. _"Oh no…not again. I couldn't help it!"_ Regretful tears dotted the corners of Stylo's eyes; it was disheartening to hear its shriek.

However, it had been cast into a lava flow. And that same lava was threatening to swallow Jyeshtha, too. She clicked her tongue before springing out of the lava's path. Upon roosting atop an establishment's edge, the cat-girl cartwheeled, flipped, and tapped to a safe halt. Gymnastic in all her movements, Jyeshtha had no problems scaling walls, narrowly dodging Stylo's arrow, or evading the Beloved's onslaught. Who was this girl, and was she a Witch—just like the ones Stylo had been so curious about during childhood? He knew he couldn't ask her outright. That would be a costly, exhausting, and possibly lethal mistake. She had quite a plethora of skills, movements, and tactics. She was by no means to be underestimated.

Flexing her over-sharpened fingers, she shot a glare across the lava canal. It burrowed into Stylo's psyche; there's no joking around with this girl, Stylo forewarned. Although, something about her intrigued him.

He watched her lower her talons. The flames on them dimmed, but remained fiery. Curling over her body was a cat-suit, for lack of a better word. Evening lavender looked dreary, with silvery braided knots tasseling around and off her body. Almost like belts, they coursed her torso, chest, upper arms and thighs, and along her spine and tail. Ensiform tapers spiked out the front- and backsides of those thighs. They looked ghostlike, freeform as an unsteady wind blew through. Underneath the weapons' cuffs seemed to be white fur, a lot like her collar. He gawked at the silver disk over her heart. A moon design was engraved into it.

With a lot of resolve and bravery, Stylo questioned the witch. "Hey! You! What are you after? Spagonia's been partially destroyed"—He threw an index finger at her.—"and I'm holding _you_ responsible for it!" He dipped his eyebrows at her. "Now, answer me! Who are you, and who do you work for?"

_"Some arrogance for a clueless freak,"_ the dark-lavender cat couldn't help thinking. She snorted at him. "Why don't you make like a nun and keep your lips shut?"

Poor Stylo flushed red like a tomato. "Gah?! W-Well, y-you make like a renegade and get outta town!"

"Doofus. _I'm_ running this town tonight, and I don't need some goody-goody priest-in-diapers telling me otherwise." Her own canaries seemed rabid as they pecked into Stylo's. "Get back to your church, priest. In case you're lost, it's down the street and across that bridge over there," she directed him with a claw-point and a bold rightward hip swagger. Marching away, she continued, "Now, make like a banana and split…before I split _you_ in two." She hissed at him, both shoulder patches raising threatening.

Stylo flinched and tripped over his robe hem. Pointing fearfully at her, he was able to refute her statement. "Hold on, I'm not just 'some goody-goody priest,' lady!—and _most_ _certainly_ not one in diapers! You take that back right now!" An immature fury blazed in Stylo's eyes and in his roar.

"Tch! Whatever. Kiss it." She resumed her swagger. She also gave him the bird and didn't look back.

"Grah, get back here—you're still in trouble, y'know!"

The witch's footfalls stopped tersely. Another growl under her breath denoted her annoyance. "Oh yeah? With who, you? Yeah, whatever." But something clicked just as she turned around. Turning slowly back, she snipped, "…Or maybe it's your _friend_ over there?"

Stylo had just landed from his vault over the lava canal. He recovered from his roll and was about to snatch up the feline's hand. Though, he not only remembered her claw, but became confused by the term she used. He blinked. "Friend? What friend?"

Jyeshtha clicked her tongue again. "No friends, huh? How sad is that?" She shrugged carelessly.

"Hey! Hold on—seriously, now!" Stylo snatched up the girl's wrist. Her furious glare would've stabbed him right between the eyes if it could summon daggers. Thank goodness he was able to deflect it. Oddly, a lot like that Enchant. "I don't know what kind of 'friend' you mean, but you've got some explaining to do, young lady!"

"Who're you, my mother? Paws off, priest!" came the snarl, wrist snatch, and bared fangs and claws. In fact, one came soaring towards his face.

And, by a miraculous reflex, Stylo dodged it. He spun in a backward jump, caught his balance again, and huffed. "I told you, I'm not a priest! I'm a Lumen Sage, thank you very much!"

Suddenly, a pause floated between them. A Lumen Sage, he said. What with the speed he used to leap from rooftop to rooftop, wielding an angel's weapon without much effort, or even knowing how to use it, Jyeshtha didn't doubt it. As a matter of fact, it put things into perspective for her.

A sneaky grin. "Oh? Is that so? I see—you're in cahoots with that Sentinel guy over there, huh?"

"_Sentinel guy?"_ the referral scuttled through Stylo's memory banks. As he found himself unable to recall such a figure, he followed her thumb and saw what she had pointed at. But that was when his heart dropped and face paled.

Another, more confident, smirk: Just in the nick of time, Jyeshtha fluidly avoided the meteor flying towards them. In those few strides, the feline witch slowed down time, somersaulted from the molten ball, snatched up Stylo, and made a run for it. Time returned to its normal speed. The first thing the meteor struck was the very spot Stylo had been standing in mere second-fractions before. Face still pale, he gulped. _"Was that the Sentinel guy's attack?!"_

Now further away, the Sage fledgling recuperated on a different rooftop. But the witch never paused. Before Stylo could stop her, she was off again. But sorely at a disadvantage. "No! Don't go! You can't face that—whatever it is!"

"Shut it, Sage!" Jyeshtha was only distracted for half a second when she was shot down by a light beam. It seared into her ribcage, spun her away, and sent her into the building Stylo stood on.

Its foundation crumbled, wobbled, and so did Stylo's balance. "Ah, oh no!" Then, he growled in the direction that beam had come. "Quit it! This can be settled _without_ violence!" he barked.

The cat witch pushed herself out of the rubble, slowly. Grainy dirt and rock sprinkled on her forehead. Her bindi gleamed. "Mrrgh…Damn you, Sage."

At the sight of the assailant flying closer, Stylo went on the offensive. He pulled out the angelic longbow and took hasty aim. String drawn and light gathering, he yelled back, "Don't come any closer! We can do this the easy way or the hard way! If you are what she's said, then we can work something out, can't we? I'm a Sage, too, so let's turn her in together—!"

The lightest foot tap, then the other Sage vanished. Stylo froze. All the energy in his arrow was lost. _"So fast…!"_

Right when the thought manifested, so did the assailant once more. A soft touch atop Stylo's drawing hand came before a nearly musical murmur: "VIRUDEN," it said. It left as fast as it came, and it made Stylo's head spin. Double-taking both shoulders, he stuttered. "W-Wait a minute…? What the—?!"

Refocused, he was able to see the witch's assailant: The Lumen Sage was heavily veiled. From crown to toe, he wore mostly eggshell and gold. His half-robe looked just like Stylo's; although, a crimson tabard accentuated the front and a short cape did so for the back. Gilt laurels curled throughout the robe, with some stopping at his elbows—where bulb-shaped sleeves wafted in the wind. The official garbs looked pristine, down to his trousers, fingerless gloves, and even combat boots. An opal jewel seemed to be embedded into the tabard's upper part. There seemed to be gold armor protecting his waist, particularly over his groin. A gold half-mask veiled the upper part of his face; it was similar to Father Balder's, except in design. Sunrays radiated from its visor, as did ram horns in authoritative curls. A hood covered most of his head quills, even hiding away a couple beaded strings. It continued over his mouth, along his jawline, and ended as a cowl neck.

He had no weapons Stylo could speak of. And that worried Jyeshtha. In his air-dash, she'd caught sight of the intruder. She grinded her teeth as she locked eyes with him.

Even so, Stylo stared at the man who bore no visible features. He felt his aura, became awed by it. And his cryptically immense beauty.

_In the Sentinel's First Glance, Amen._


	5. The Sentinel's Test B

**Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton**

**Verse Four – The Sentinel's Test B**

Stylo's spines wouldn't stop shivering. An uneasiness filled the space between him and the newcomer Sage. A strong hesitation hazed his breathing space, almost suffocating him. It almost reminded him of Father Balder and the "foreboding" glance he gave him. Scared canaries watered.

_"He's way stronger than me! I can feel—an unbelievable pressure! Who is this guy? And why does his aura match an angel's?!"_

But in spite of Stylo's critical internal analyses, the other Sage made no advances or signs of attention. He was still as a statue. White hems, on opposing sides, fluttered in a light sea breeze. A tiny gulp slithered down the white hedgehog's throat.

_"Who…are you?"_ Nothing else could come out of Stylo's head.

There was nothing he could ask that would explain why this newcomer—supposedly an ally—was attacking this Witch. Was she truly such a major threat? Her power was impressive, Stylo admitted, but was he trying to kill her? And if they were under the same allegiance, why would he attack him, too?

Scared tears scurried down the boy's cheeks. _"…And why are you attacking _me_?!"_

"What're you doing, you moron?! Get away from him!"

The wiser Sage's preparations to attack commenced: A mandala-like halo rose from his feet, encircling him in a fiery ring. "VINU MALPIRGI," came the soft incantation. As he lifted from the ground, his head-veils became less opaque. Their hems flared like flame-tips. The roseate beads floated about, much like his tabard and half-cape. His gold visor gleamed dangerously. It was revealed that he carried no weapons, but Jyeshtha was sure he possessed very strong Lumen Sage magic. His aura intensified. The mandala had transformed in shape and color. It hung at the Sage's back, now.

Jyeshtha bit her lower lip. _"I know that symbol…!"_

And Stylo was speechless. It was so bright, so fiery, and heavy, Stylo didn't know what was looking at or if he was looking at anything. Gazing at something like that should've burned his eyes out, right? Instead, his body was arrested by awe. But, the fearful kind.

Fashioned much like the Applaud's arrows, a light sword suddenly emerged from the wiser Sage's hand. It blazed.

"Idiot! Move!"

The Sage said nothing as he lunged at Stylo. Intensity quantified with each closing step. From sword-point to hilt, the weapons came like an arrow. As did the Sage, himself. Petrified by the aura, his target couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He just gasped, staring into death's abysmal yet protected eyes.

_"I'm gonna die,"_ Stylo's mind screamed. _"He's going to kill me!"_

"Whatever! He's mine, fool!"

The cat-Witch rescued him? Again? Time slows. Her hellish claws aim for the enemy's face. Yet they miss by a hair. It's enough for her to notice, then grapple Stylo and throw him over to a different rooftop. "No—Agh!"

Sparks flew with every clash between claw and sword. Nonstop clangs vied for a successful strike on both sides. Kicks and slashes were made against the Lumen Sage, but proved himself to be more elusive than powerful. Wasn't he aiming for her?

In-between pauses, Jyeshtha interrogated him. "Tell me, Sage. What're you here for? Is it me—or that moron—you want?"

Though, nothing was spoken in return. He resumed his assault.

"Urk! Talk, damn you! It's not like you and your kind to allow friendly fire. Why such hatred towards that kid?" Another unsuccessful strike brought space between them. "I didn't think you hated newbies so much…Sentinel."

There was a more reflective pause, this time. The Lumen's veils wisped in the sea breeze. Tidal crashes gave the moment more concentration. He didn't lower his sword, but his golden gaze.

"I do not hate that child."

For some reason, he dismissed his light sword and stood for a moment. The breeze continued to take his tabard, cape, and veils. The ram horns gilded in the faintest sun slivers. Carmine beads glimmered, as well. That gold visor didn't move in the slightest. But his head-spines flounced as he shook his head.

"I cannot hate that child."

Jyeshtha growled.

"Now, be gone, Witch."

The cat-girl readied her claws again. "Heh! You think you're hot stuff, don't you? Look at you—all up on your high horse about being 'unable' to hate that dunce—when you nearly incinerated him with a meteor…! If I hadn't moved him, _he'd_ be gone, you know."

The other Sage didn't seem fazed by the notion.

"Ha! And that non-face you're making proves it! You could care less about that boy…So why don't we just fight _mano a mano_?" Jyeshtha purred, licking her upper lip.

Another light flashed within the Sentinel's grasp.

"Yeah, what do you say…Sentinel?"

* * *

_"Why don't you become fish food for my partner, Iblis?"_

Unbeknownst to Jyeshtha or the mysterious Sentinel, Stylo had fallen into a courtyard-like area. His young body had crashed through a wooden bench. It wasn't much to cushion his fall, so only the earth underneath surely ended it. Unfortunately, it was too hard and knocked him out cold.

Suddenly, from under the trees' umbrage, came a lone figure. Coughing up a storm, it was familiar as well as very vexed, confused, and somewhat concerned.

"Dammit, what the hell was all that back there?" Arsenio brushed the leaves sticking to his jacket. "I lost my hat, but…it's better than losing my life. Could've died in _that_ heat…damn."

The echidna spied the hedgehog. It was a bit startling, seeing him battered and bruised like that. Especially since he'd only seen him—A-Okay and cheery—that morning. Blood made its way from his head; obviously from the fall. The boy wasn't moving at all.

"Stylo!"

So, Arsenio sprang into action.

After a little while, Stylo was all patched up: After tearing shreds off both his and his own clothing, Arsenio wrapped them around all the injuries he could. Carefully, he brought Stylo out of the courtyard and into an alleyway's mouth. Resting next to some abandoned flowerpots and boxes, Arsenio waited for Stylo to wake.

Something about the distance between them made Arsenio uncomfortable. "I don't want him freaking out after he wakes up…." So he decided to keep the boy close. Cradling his head and upper body to his chest. The white hedgehog rested there, a bit shorter than Arsenio expected. His body frame was also a bit smaller than he remembered. It was petite for a guy his age. He huddled closer, subconsciously, Arsenio figured. It seemed a slice from his sleeve seemed to be keeping free radicals out just fine. The red spot hadn't gotten any bigger since covering it.

But the boy lied in his arms, nonetheless. A concentrating furrow cinched his brows together. It made Arsenio wonder, but hold his tongue.

* * *

_Stylo's fun went into another blissful day. Feeling an absence in time, Stylo must've made a hundred flower crowns. Pure happiness shined from the hedgehog's face. The meadows curved atop hills and around streamlets. Tiny wings flapped around him. Cherubic faces smiled and giggled with him as he tumbled down one hill. Each one had crowns of all kinds. They didn't seem to mind reveling with him._

_ Much taller Affinities and even taller Applauds clapped for him. The floating faces bobbed around Stylo, happy to see him and singing joyfully. The hedgehog kicked around a streamlet's water, danced in it, and coaxed an Applaud into his play. To that, a couple Affinities followed. It turned into a splash party before Stylo knew it._

_ Very befitting to such a tiny, inspirational boy._

* * *

Arsenio snapped his eyes open to a rumbling sound. "Aw, crap! Not again!" He threw himself to his feet, with Stylo unconscious, and into a sprint. "What the hell is it _this_ time, man?!" He stopped, finding himself boxed in the courtyard. He swapped desperate eyes around in search of an exit. "Dammit, no! C'mon, man!"

The rumbling was coming closer and closer, but Arsenio couldn't pinpoint where from. In an odd sense, in spite of his anticipation, it sounded like a motor vehicle.

**Meanwhile, on rooftops farther away**…

Jyeshtha's fight with the Sentinel intensified. Each clash spurned fire; equivalent forces. For some reason, she didn't back down even though she knew she had a major disadvantage. Her anger had boiled past its usual limit, and her body was beginning to wear down. The Sentinel, however, didn't make any movements or other indications of fatigue. _"He's probably just fronting," _Jyeshtha thought. She clicked her tongue. _"Tch! Stubborn ram…!"_

"It seems you've distracted me long enough, Witch."

Jyeshtha's pupils slivered. _"He knew that the entire time?!"_

The Sentinel dismissed his light-sword and stood. "Our battle has caused enough damage. The fledgling has failed my test. I no longer need to persist in my assault. You're free to go…for now." He withdrew his power, his magnificent aura, and spun on a ball to leave.

"Wait a minute, Sage! We're not done here!" the cat-Witch roared. "You haven't told me what you wanted from that do-gooder. Is he that unimportant? Then why pursue him at all—Huh?" She pinned a thumb to her chest. "Wasn't it _me_ you were after?"

A sideward glance was slighted back at her.

"Seeing that…you know…it was what your _boss_ wanted?"

A flaming disk encircled each boot-heel. "His order and my own objective happened to fall under the same prerogative is all that was." Turning his back, he readied himself to leap. "I bid you adieu. Until we meet again, Witch."

Then, the explosive light brought him high into the air. Fire tendrils twirled about his frame and twisted around his somersault. Jyeshtha wanted to shoot him down with a claw-hook, but the fire engulfed him into a reddish-orange cocoon. She snarled to herself, watching as he dispelled the fire like shattering glass.

Only to see he had gone. Disappeared; only to leave a long, gingery feather behind.

* * *

"Wah! What're y'all—_crazy?!_" Arsenio had leapt out of the way of a huge semi. Its eighteen-wheeled bulk ruined everything in its path—except Arsenio and Stylo, of course. Finishing off what was left of the courtyard's beauty, it burst into its own inferno. It also looked like it'd gone through a battlefield itself. Scrapes, dents, and holes riddled the trailer in certain places; upon closer inspection, Arsenio saw that it was completely empty. No driver, no passenger, no cargo—anymore. On the side of it was Spagonia's GUN emblem.

Arsenio's heart dropped into his feet. "Holy crap…!"

Those scrapes looked awfully big. So did those dents and holes.

"What the hell? What the hell's goin' on here?"

Stylo remained completely unaware in the echidna's arms. The concentration left his face; replacing it was worry.

"This is where my life ends, and my mysterious destiny begins."

_In the Sentinel's First Round, Amen._


End file.
